<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Gamemode 0 by wwa archive (wisdom_walks_alone)</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24267478">Gamemode 0</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/wisdom_walks_alone/pseuds/wwa%20archive'>wwa archive (wisdom_walks_alone)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>youtube - Fandom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Crack Treated Seriously, Gen, this was supposed to be ironic ok</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2017-11-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2017-11-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 23:33:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,999</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24267478</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/wisdom_walks_alone/pseuds/wwa%20archive</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The 49th Hunger Games are fast approaching. May the odds be ever in your favor.</p><p>basically in 2017 i saw lizzie and joel reading their wattpad fanfictions in a video and i thought "im going to make them a Good fanfiction" and then i never even finished it please dont take this seriously i dont actually do rpf</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Joel | SmallishBeans &amp; Callum | Seapeekay, Lizzie | LDShadowLady &amp; Oli | TheOrionSound, Oli | TheOrionSound &amp; Callum | Seapeekay</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Welcome to District Twelve || Lizzie</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>There's a chain link fence surrounding the entirety of our district, separating the people from the forest that lay beyond. It's meant to protect us from all the animals that roam the woods, but I think it's also there to keep all of us in. The fence is supposed to be electric, but District Twelve is lucky if it gets three hours of electricity a day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That being said, you can probably guess that it doesn't do the best job at keeping people out of the forest. The holes certainly don't help the purpose, and neither does the fact that they're just big enough for a human to fit through but too small for any large animals.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But everyone always comes back through the fence. No one would ever think to escape. It's not like there's anywhere to escape to. It's mainly just for hunting purposes, even if it's illegal, but then even Peacekeepers want to eat a good squirrel or deer every once in awhile, and hunting is the best way to feed your family in this district.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For me, it provides some sanctuary. Since my father is a doctor, we can usually afford decent meals, but trekking through the forest is just a nice getaway. I'm not much of a hunter anyways.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's almost dawn now, and I can see the slightest bit of orange over the eastern horizon. Maddie is still sleeping, so I quietly slip out of my bed, pull on a short sleeved shirt, and slip my feet into my boots before I leave the room, carefully shutting the door behind me. I grab some stale bread and tear it in half, deciding to save some for later. Sticking half the bread in my mouth, I head out as I grab my jacket and satchel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At this hour the town is asleep, but the Seam is awake and getting ready for the day ahead, despite it still being mostly dark out. I make my way through the market, greeting some people as I pass. Most of them are people my mother used to know, since I don't know too many people my own age who live here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I do have friends, though. I'm not that anti-social. One of them is the baker’s son Oli, who falls into step with me as I near the center of the Seam.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lovely day for a Reaping, isn't it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I look up and pretend to examine the weather. “I dunno,” I reply, “seems a bit cloudy for such a joyous occasion.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess you're right,” says Oli, squinting up at the sky. He chuckles bitterly and runs a hand through his scruffy brown hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reaping Day is always a big day no matter who you are. Neither one of us has ever had to take tesserae, but Oli is still entered five times and I six. The older you got the closer you were to safety, but you would also be getting a higher chance of being reaped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fence is in sight now, and a slight breeze has picked up, sending a current of cool air into my face When we finally reach a hole in the fence, we prod it with a stick just to make sure it's still off. As usual, it is, and we climb through.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fresh air feels good in my lungs, much more refreshing than the musty air of the district. A squirrel scurries up a tree and a mockingjay sings out a sweet tune. I whistle a melody and smile as I hear it come back. Oli chuckles and starts singing a song I don't recognize. He’s always singing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We make our way to a pond and dip our feet in as we complain about things we'd never be able to within the fence. The reaping isn't for another couple of hours, and we want to enjoy what time we have left before one of us possibly gets sent off to their death.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Hunger Games are an annual event in Panem, to remind the districts of the power the Capitol holds over us. To remind us of our defeat forty-nine years ago in the Rebellion, of the Dark Days we were thrown into afterwards.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's a sick game where children are pitted against each other to the death, a reality show with bloodshed. Some in the richer districts believe it to be an honor to participate in the Hunger Games, but here in District Twelve, it’s basically just being picked to die. Almost no tributes from District Twelve have ever made it out alive, and we’ve only had two victors in the past twenty years.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Though our chances for being picked are quite slim--less than ten slips out of thousands--we're still nervous enough. So far we've been safe, but if we'll make it to nineteen is always uncertain. One of us could be the next District Twelve tribute, or maybe we'll both get reaped and die together. It's a pretty terrible situation either way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I lie on my back with my arms under my head, toes in the water as I feel the warmth of the sun on my face, Oli’s song filling my ears.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>“Lizzie!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A pillow hit my head from the other side of the room and I groaned, pulling the blanket over my head in an effort to get back to sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lizzie </span>
  <em>
    <span>get up.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you want, Maddie?” I demanded from under the covers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There's something outside the window,” hissed Maddie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure it's not just a squirrel or something?” I asked, still not wanting to wake up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It's bigger than a squirrel, Lizzie,” she replied. I heard a sound at the window. “Lizzie! Can you please see what it is?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You do it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I groaned again and forced myself out from under the blanket, feeling a rush of cold hit me as I tried to see in the dark room. My eyes adjusted and I walked over to the window and opened it. Something immediately jumped inside, bringing with it a gust of wind that blew the cold air from outside into the room. Maddie let out a yelp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thing was in the corner of the room now, and I slowly edged towards it. I turned on the gas lamp next to my bed and held it up, seeing that the creature that had jumped in the window was a small kitten, white with brown on its head, back, and tail.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a cat,” I said to Maddie, trying to get her to calm down. At those words she got out of her bed and walked over to see.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aw,” she cooed, squatting to get a better look. “What a cutie!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Poor thing, it must be starving! How has it managed to stay alive out there on its own?” I wondered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maddie scrunched up her eyebrows. “I dunno, but we should give it some food, yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” I replied, picking the cat up and carrying it to the kitchen. We fed it some meat scraps and it ate them vigorously. I chuckle a little. “You certainly are a hungry little guy.” I stroked his back as he ate. “I wonder what we should call you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How about Jumper since he jumped through the window?” suggested Maddie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s a terrible name for a cat,” I said rolling my eyes. “What about...Buddy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The corner of Maddie’s lip twitched up. “That’s a terrible name, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a better name than ‘Jumper’.” I smiled, giggling a little. “What kind of name is that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maddie started laughing. “Shut </span>
  <em>
    <span>up</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Fine, Buddy it is.” She scratched Buddy’s ears as she tried to suppress her giggles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I smiled and shook my head. “I think I’m gonna head out early, since I’m already up,” I told her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where are you going to go?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I shrugged. “Just on a walk I guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I went back into our bedroom and changed my shirt, then put on my boots. My jacket and satchel were by the door, as always, and I grabbed them on the way out. The dusty air hit me like a brick to the face, but it was still better than breathing the air inside the house.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I found myself walking towards the Hob, the black market held inside a warehouse that used to be used for storing coal, but has since been abandoned. People sell all sorts of things there, from livestock to food to clothes. The operation would be shut down if the peacekeepers weren’t just as desperate for things as the rest of us.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There wasn’t really much need for me, or any member of my family for that matter, to go to the Hob, since we were usually good on food and other necessities with my father being one of the few doctors in the district, but I always enjoyed going and looking at all the wares being sold, maybe buying a few. This time I bought some meat and fish scraps to give to the cat when I got back home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greasy Sae was selling her usual in her usual spot, and I was feeling a bit snackish, so I bought some of her soup. She smiled at me as she handed me the bowl and I smiled back before shoving a spoonful into my mouth. I never asked her what was in the soup, but I honestly didn't want to know. It tasted good and that's all I needed to know.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Two boys came up to the stand and bought some soup as well, and I recognized them from school as Joel and Callum, who were my age. I never talked to them much, but I knew they were from the Seam. Joel had some rabbits strapped to his belt and Callum was carrying a wild turkey and a basket of various berries.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joel nodded to me as he took his bowl and offered a rabbit to Greasy Sae. She accepted and gave him some coins in return. Callum took his soup and the two of them went to sell the rest of their things.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What nice boys,” Greasy Sae commented. I nodded. I'd never interacted with them before this, but I had seen them around at school. They were always polite.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I gave Greasy Sae back her bowl and spoon and bid her farewell, then left the Hob in the direction of the town.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As I walked, I heard some shouting from behind one of the houses. I decided to investigate, and found two Seam kids throwing snowballs at a boy I recognized as the baker’s son. They taunted and mocked him as they pummelled the poor boy with what I knew was cold, hard ice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop it!” I yelled at them. “Go away! Leave him alone!” I run up towards them and they turn to face me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, a little girl!” said one. “Acting tough, aren't you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My jaw clenched and I leant down to pick up a lump of snow, packing it into a ball and throwing it straight at the kid’s face. The kid stumbled back and wiped the snow off his face before scoffing and storming away. “Come on, this is more trouble than it’s worth,” he told the other kid, who glared at me before trailing behind his friend.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks…” the boy who was being hit with snowballs said, brushing snow off his coat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I shook my head. “People should remember that we shouldn't turn on each other here.” I looked back up at the baker’s son. He was a year younger than me, the same age as Maddie, I think. “I'm Lizzie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He offered a hand. “Oli.”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>“It’s almost time.” Oli’s voice breaks into mind, disrupting the quiet of the pond and the surrounding forest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Already?” I ask, propping myself up on one elbow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm,” he hums, and I push myself into a sitting position. He watches his legs swish in the pond solemnly. Neither of us make a move to get up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A few more minutes,” I say quietly, looking down at our feet suspended in the water.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A few more minutes,” Oli agrees.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Reaping || Joel</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The area around the Justice Building is crowded, but an aura of dread hangs in the air and settles deep in the stomachs of everyone in the crowd. Nobody is excited for the Hunger Games. Not anybody from here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Callum and I wish each other luck before we go to our separate ways, I to the section for sixteen year olds and Callum to the seventeen year olds. Each age group is roped off from the others, the boys and girls separated down the middle, forming a pathway for tributes to walk to the stage and, ultimately, their doom.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thats as far as i got boys, sorry</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Epilogue || Oli</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i had this written out and planned in advance so. shrug</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It’s been a year since Lizzie died in the Hunger Games. Life’s been pretty lonely without her, but I kept my promise to look out for Maddie and Buddy. I’ve befriended a boy from the Seam named Callum, who was friends with last year’s tribute, Joel. We’ve bonded over a shared loss, but we’ve ultimately come to accept what’s happened to our friends. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a new year now, and things have been looking up recently, but I shouldn’t be so optimistic. The Hunger Games are here again, and I have my name in the bowl six times and Callum has a whopping thirty-two from taking tesserae. If he makes it through this year, he’ll be free of the Hunger Games. But this year is the second Quarter Quell, and the Capitol has decided that this year there will be twice the amount of tributes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything in the Seam seems to be exactly the same as it was last year, eerily so. The only difference is that Lizzie isn’t here for me to meet with. The same people, the same buildings, the same products being sold. I find it a bit disheartening.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Callum is waiting by the merchant selling apples, his knives strapped to his belt. He must have just been hunting. I haven’t been outside the fence since the day Lizzie was reaped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Another year, another reaping,” Callum says as I approach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I let my mouth twist into a wry smile. “Guess so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Reaping starts soon. We should get going.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nod and we start on the way to the Hall of Justice. We walk in silence, neither one of us really knowing what to say. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because of the Quell there’s a higher chance of us being picked. For one of us this may very well be our last day in District Twelve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The skies are annoyingly clear today, as they were last year, and that makes me scowl. Why should the weather be so cheery on a day like this? Kids are literally being picked to die and the sky is all blue and sunny with puffy white clouds just floating about.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Callum seems to have picked up on my feelings, because he nudges me with his elbow and gives me a small, strained smile. I try to smile back, but it’s hard to smile on a day like today.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I can see the escort standing cheerily by the microphone, eager to choose which children will die this year. The mentors are there too, faces grim as they are at every reaping. I can’t imagine being in their position every year for the rest of my life. And they will be doing this for the rest of their lives, most likely, unless another two district twelve tributes rise as victors. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And we all know how likely that will be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m about to go to the section for seventeen-year-olds when I feel Callum put a hand on my shoulder. I turn and he looks down at me, and I look back at him. “May the odds be ever in your favor,” he tells me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The odds are never in our favor,” I say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks away then looks back at me, putting his other hand on my shoulder. “Just--good luck, Oli.” I can tell he means it, and I nod. His hands linger on my shoulders before he takes them away and walks over to the eighteen-year-olds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The reaping starts off as any other, the escort cheery as ever, the history of the Games video still the same. The escort walks up to the microphone, the two glass balls on either side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ladies first!” she chirps. Her hand sifts through the bowl for a few seconds and she pulls out a slip. “Yammy Felinus!” she shouts, and I can hear a few screams from the crowd. A girl with brown hair steps out from the cluster seventeen-year-old girls. It’s dead silent as she makes her way to the stage, pokerfaced, not terrified, not hysterical, but not confident or brave, either. “Do we have any volunteers?” asks the escort.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No one steps forward. I’m not surprised, but I’m a bit sad. I know Yammy. She’s a good person. She doesn't deserve this, none of us do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next female tribute is picked, a fifteen-year-old named Bee Muata. I recognize her from town. She tries to hold back her sobs as she walks up to the stage, but tears stream down her face anyway. She’s so young. We all are.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She and Yammy look at each other with sympathy, and the escort calls time for the male tributes to be picked. A knot settles in my stomach as her nails scratch around in the bowl. Six times, I am only in there six times.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My heart jumps to my throat, but it isn’t my name that’s been called. Callum steps out of the eighteen-year-olds and stoically walks up to the stage. The escort asks for volunteers, and I catch his eyes. He sees the look on my face and shakes his head. But it doesn’t matter what he does, because the escort’s hand is back in the bowl, and another tribute is picked. My heart pounds as she holds the slip out in front of her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oliver Suri!"</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>